"Throwing in your lot with us maybe wasn't the wisest course you could have taken," Sabbath murmured to Cross as they slogged through the thick, grimy water. Since leaving that last behemoth behind, they had been beset by a small army of The One, assailed with as many different Powers as there were colors in the rainbow, and herded rather skillfully off course, though they were slowly fighting their way back on. It was difficult going. For every psion that fell (thankfully, there was no room for the War Machine's in these smaller tunnels) three more took its place, and their tactics had become as mutable as water trying to deal with so many different threats. Cross and Calan had it easiest, in a way – no matter what was there, they whacked it with their swords. Sabbath had used her katana on more than one occasion, and thankfully, her lack of skill didn't dull the blade itself. It hacked through flesh and bone as any sword was meant to, though she knew her lack of grace dishonored it, mass-produced and commercial blade though it was.

Schuldich had long ago run out of bullets. The One was remarkably resistant to damage, even these low-level shock troops, and he'd wasted almost an entire clip in each gun before realizing that shooting for anything but the head was a waste of time. Crawford still had some ammunition left, but it was quickly running out, and Cross, Calan, and Sabbath were tiring. Jake was out of ammunition as well, and had suffered a broken jaw early in the fighting, which kept him a silent but seething presence at their sides. Farfarello knew no fatigue, of course, but his obvious pleasure in violence had dimmed somewhat as it began to become monotonous, hacking and slashing at bodies that felt no pain and gave way like mannequins when they were finally put out of commission. It was the dead evil, the insectile and insidious evil, and he did not like it now any more than he had liked it when Sabbath had first told them her tale of dead psions walking. His yells and trills had quieted – now he killed in silence, his breath coming harshly through his teeth.

Nagi had done little, as Crawford insisted he save his power for the larger threat which were undoubtedly lurking further down the road. He was the freshest of all of them, but the constant fighting and running had worn him down so that he, too, was panting for breath.

Even Crawford was disheveled and weary. "Pyrokinetic!" he called even as he dropped to his knees in the muck. "Down!"

Schwert, who had quickly learned that the word of a precognitive was to be obeyed, dropped instantly to the floor and Sabbath pulled Nagi under her arm, crouching behind a support strut. Farfarello merely pulled one of the drones in front of him and made himself compact.

Flames roared through the tunnel and licked around all of them, but Farfarello moved steadily forward using the corpse as a shield. His left hand slid behind his back and found one of his throwing knives, which he had held in reserve. He peeked out from behind his shield just long enough to catch fire full in the face and see the shadow at the core of the flame, and flung the knife. It spun end over end, the steel heating white-hot, but there was not enough time to melt the blade in the air and it slammed into the body of the drone with a dull thud. The flames winked out. Farfarello had suffered severe burns, but they didn't slow him, even the cracking of blackened flesh as he dropped the half-melted corpse and moved in to finish the pyrokinetic off. A single blow of his fist broke the creature's neck and he was beset by the drones which had been waiting behind the pyrokinetic to move in after the fire had done its job. Fortunately, Cross and Calan were there, hacking their way through the press of bodies and reaching hands.

It was hell.

For Schwert, it was even more hellish. Schwarz had shields well-honed from years of use and exercise, but Schwert was human, however remarkable. The low-level empaths in the crowd played havoc with them, sending terrible fear through them that threatened to lock their limbs, distracting them with flashes of intense lust and arousal, worming fingers of betrayal and rage into their hearts. It was only their years of experience that allowed them to hold to their training, focus, and batter down those barriers. Their blood ran hot, then cold, then bubbly and their muscles spasmed as the artificial feelings caused their bodies to release flood after flood of mood-related chemicals. Empathy was a common Gift, after all, curse it.

Cross fell to one knee, the back of one hand pressed against his forehead as tears leaked from the corners of his eyes. "Calan…" he gasped. "I can't do this…"

Calan was gasping sobs himself, desperately swinging his sword in the confined space. "Get up!" he commanded. "Aladriss!"

Schuldich cursed and sent his mind spiraling into the minds of the assembled empaths, severing their connections to the mind of his sometime-lover and forcibly propelling Cross free of the mental net. Get UP, Kreuz, he snarled. I'll shield you.

Thankfully, once he was free of the imposed emotions, Cross's black eyes narrowed and burned and he rose to his feet, longsword flashing as he dispatched the drones with deadly precision. The drones retreated, and Farfarello began to give chase, knowing that the creatures would simply return to harry them further down the line.

"No," Crawford called. "Leave them. They're slowing us down too much, and we can not lose sight of the prize."

Farfarello didn't even have the will to snarl. He fell in obediently, hands loosely curled around the hilts of his knives and dangling at his sides as he staggered back to his leader. Cross slung an arm around his waist and walked with him, breathing harshly. Farfarello eyed him, but did not protest this, and Schuldich was waiting to check both their wounds when they made it back to the main tunnel. Crawford, however, had no patience for this. "We have to keep moving," the Oracle commanded, motioning Calan and Farfarello into position with quick jerks of his head.

"We have to stop and take care of these wounds or there won't be anything left of us by the time we FIND the Core, Brad," Schuldich sneered.

"There's nothing we can do about it, Schu!" Sabbath said in despair, tears streaming from her eyes as well, leaving trails of cleanliness in the grime on her face. "I couldn't concentrate on that now if I had to, and bandaging burns just makes things worse. We have to go on."

"Take it easy, sweetheart," Cross murmured, leaving Farfarello with Schuldich, who was eyeing the madman's burns with irritation and worry. He patted Sabbath's shoulder. "When things are desperate, you'll find that your courage goes deeper than you thought. In the meantime, I'm not badly hurt and Farfarello can't feel his injuries. Let's move." He nodded to Crawford, who nodded back in cool approval.

"At this rate, we'll have nothing in us when we do find The Core," Calan said pessimistically, having been briefed on the situation en route. "I admit, I never thought I'd die like this."

"Sewer or no sewer, psions or no psions," Cross said cheerfully, "to die fighting is to die fighting. Or did you think you'd pass on of a heart attack while in bed with several gorgeous women?"

"That would have been nice," Calan allowed.

Cross grinned at him. "Well, maybe it'll still happen. Just don't fall over yet. The future's not set in stone, after all."

"The Precognative's going to have to tell me that before I believe it," Calan murmured, smirking in Crawford's direction and receiving an answering smirk. Cross just laughed.

"This is all wrong, though," Sabbath protested to Cross, willing him not to dismiss the sinking feeling in her gut. "The bulk of The One's forces were supposed to be concentrated on the other Psions, but we see them here. There can't be too many more than this," she insisted. "I'm surprised there are this many, we would have heard of this many disappearances. Something's not right."

Cross considered this and, at length, nodded. "Yes, it does seem that we're being paid a lot of attention for having 'snuck' in." He glanced at Jake, who trudged along with his hands in his pockets, the shadows literally seething around him. Tendrils of almost physical darkness reached up to caress him periodically, as if the darkness itself was an over-solicitous lover. His shadows hadn't been able to hide them thus far, so he was in a position of uselessness and not liking it in the least. Cross wondered, though, if he was more capable than he was letting on.

"We were fucked over somehow," Schuldich muttered, moving away from Farfarello once he was sure he wasn't going to keel over within the next few minutes. "Somewhere, there was a hole. And who's to say it wasn't you?" he wondered pointedly, eyes narrowing in Sabbath's direction.

"It wasn't her. I would have Seen any betrayal on her part," Crawford told him sharply. "Now's not the time to cast suspicions. Can you find anything?"

Schuldich sneered, turning his attention to a mental scan and blinking. "I can't find the other teams," he told Crawford slowly, then more urgently, "no response from Midnight or Isa!"

Jake's eyes widened. "Auspex?" he slurred, wincing at the agony that shot through his broken jaw.

"Shut up," Schuldich shot back, leaning against the soot-blackened wall of the tunnel as he probed for Ash's mental signature. "Ash is alive. All of Auspex is alive. Raven's Gleaning is alive, but shielding – I can't get through to them like this," he trailed off in exhaustion. His chin tilted back. "Wait… Damon's there…." He listened for a long moment. Every second that passed by carried more weight. Any minute now, they'd be found again. They didn't have time for this.

Schuldich opened his eyes, lapis-colored gaze dark with hatred. "Fell. It's FELL."

"How could it be?" Nagi wondered quietly, reasonably. "He has as much to lose from all this as any of us. More, because he's a telepath. And we saw that war machine from The One nearly melt his shoulder off."

"A ruse," Crawford ascertained, straightening and brushing ash off of his Kevlar vest. "He was obviously willing to sacrifice a lot in order to get us here, where we'd be trapped and outnumbered."

"He didn't pick his ground very well," Cross pointed out with a snort. "In narrow tunnels like these, four can hold off four hundred."

"But eventually, we'll be overwhelmed." Calan leaned on his sword and eyed Crawford. "Thoughts?"

"It doesn't make sense," Crawford said slowly, but Schuldich spoke up.

"It makes perfect sense. Both how he could have done it, and why he would have. He's not a normal Talent, Brad. I should have told you before." The redhead's voice heavy with resignation.

Crawford eyed him sharply. "What are you talking about?"

"He's a psychic vampire," Sabbath said softly.

Crawford's eyes widened.

"That's not a good look," Cross muttered. "I don't like that look."

"He's a LEECH?" Nagi said in shock.

"Since he was a little boy," Sabbath told him solemnly. "He had an encounter with another psychic vampire when he was eight years old. That man tried to drain him, but Fell fought back, and because of his Talent, instead of dying…."

"He looped his own metabolism over itself and became a psychic vampire himself," Crawford ascertained. His jaw set. "And now he's using the unique abilities all psychic vampires possess to create and maintain the Collective. But to what purpose?"

""Why else does someone build an army?" Cross wondered quietly. "He's after power."

Farfarello spoke. "With power like this, he could rule the world and overthrow Eszet," he said softly, picking at a piece of burnt and curling flesh until it tore away and causing Calan to turn very green.

"Too simple," Crawford murmured, straightening his glasses. "But if that is his goal, we will show him the error of it." There was a deadly look in the Oracle's eyes.

Schuldich smirked. "Going to search the future?"

"I'll find him," Crawford vowed, and leaned against the side of the tunnel.

Calan let out a yell and swung his sword down, distracting the attention of the others, but Crawford remained deep in thought even as Schwert and Farfarello leaped to intercept another wave of The One's drones. Sabbath gripped her katana and stood between the dead-psions-walking and Crawford, just in case one got through. If Crawford didn't find Fell, they were running in circles, letting themselves be worn down. So it was important – critical, even – that the precognitive have the peace he needed.

There were only three in this next wave, slightly modified by biokinetics, and Schwert and Farfarello cut them down.

"Schuldich, shield us," Crawford said quietly.

Schuldich nodded. "Did you find something?"

"I found the enemy," Crawford said quietly, his tone deadly. "Come with me. Delano, cover our path. We have to move fast, and we have to move now." He pushed off the wall and set off.

Needing only the order to act, Sabbath leaped in behind him, and Nagi fell in at his right hand.

"It all comes to a head," Schuldich murmured, lighting a cigarette and offering the dwindling pack around before following his leader. No one took him up on it, though Jake looked mournful. "I wonder if I should alert the other teams."

"If they don't have telepaths of your caliber, they can't shield against him, right?" Calan said stonily. "Better not to. Whatever they do will distract him, and give us a chance to kill him."

"Cold of you," Schuldich said blandly.

"Practical," Cross corrected him with an easy grin. "After all, we're in the protection racket – as long as he doesn't survive to hurt any more innocent people, we did our job."

"You can't enjoy your paycheck if you die," Schuldich pointed out as Crawford led them down through narrow crossways that were in bad repair, little-used passages barely big enough to stand up in.

"Eh, it's just money," Cross said with a laugh that turned into a cough as he doubled over, one hand resting against fractured ribs. "Who needs it? I'll tell you what, when we get out of this alive, I'll take that paycheck and treat you to Guinness and a week's vacation at this great bed and breakfast I know of in North Carolina, right on the coast. Clean water, clean sheets, and all the privacy in the world. And no psychic vampires."

"After I get out of this alive, I'm going HOME," Schuldich muttered in response. "No psychic vampires, and easily-defeated enemies who are fun to play with. Not that you're not fun, Kreuz."

"Do you really think of Japan as home?" Calan wondered.

"Japan is a means to an end," Schuldich replied flippantly, pausing to catch Farfarello as one of his legs gave out from under him. "Shit. Favor it if it's twisted, Farf. We're just there because right now, it's the best place to be. But we've been there so long, I guess it's home, sort of. Not planning on tracking us there, are you?"

"Sorry," Cross said dryly, smirking at Schuldich. "I'll have to check my schedule, but I'm pretty sure I can't be arsed."

"Shut up," Crawford said quietly. "It's time to act professional."

Cross obediently shut his mouth. Crawford was right, of course. This was a life or death situation and they were about to walk into the worst of it. He wanted it to be over as much as anyone else, of course, but he had to admit, there was something sort of nice about being around Schu and not having to work around a deception.

Idiot, he chastised himself gently. Your life hangs in the balance and you just want to fuck him again before he goes away.

He glanced at Schuldich to see if he'd heard, but the telepath was with Farfarello and had his back to him, so his expression was hidden. Deciding that it wasn't important, Cross let go of the thought and let his mind subside to its usual near-silent murmur.

They came to a sheer drop and Crawford motioned to Nagi. Schuldich immediately reached for Crawford's hand and Farfarello's, and Farfarello took Sabbath's hand, startling her. She caught on quickly, however, and reached for Jake with a weary, ironic smile.

In a moment, they were all linked. Nagi preceded them into the pipeline, concentrating fiercely. It was a long and arduous drop, as the pipe wasn't very wide, and all of them were scraped and bumped against the sides more than once as Nagi fought to control their descent. The pipe curved into an almost horizontal line, leaving them to pick and slide their way through the built up muck. They moved without speech, a solemn hush falling over the group as Crawford guided Nagi through the twists and turns of the sewer system. They were far enough down that the grime was unidentifiable and stank more of rot and rust than waste. Cross lost track of time, and stopped counting minutes, keeping his grip firmly on Calan's hand and moving with great care through constricted space. Finally, they stopped in a length of tunnel too narrow for them to do more than crouch, and Crawford gestured. Schuldich relayed his thoughts.

Twenty feet ahead of us is a drop of about twelve feet down into the chamber where we will find our true enemy. Once you land, get out of the way. He is not prepared for our intervention – I See him in a great deal of pain. Move fast, be ready, use lethal force. Understood?

There were nods all around.

All right, Crawford approved. Release hands. On three. One…two…

Three.

X-X-X